Читать книгу Bluebell - Mrs. G. C. Huddleston - Страница 20

Table of Contents

"'Tis over,

The valse, the quadrille, and the song,

The whispered farewell of the lover;

The heartless adieu of the throng,

The heart that was throbbing with pleasure;

The eyelid that longed for repose,

The beaux that were dreaming of treasure.

The girls that were dreaming of beaux."

Edward Firzgerald.

Before they got to the Tremaines' house, Bertie drove up with Miss Lilla, who was "quite dry now, thank you; not worth while bringing all the sleighs up to the door." More than one curious observer noticed the panting flanks of the horse, who scarcely looked as if he had been resting in a stable. To be sure, the delinquents had done that last mile rather fast, to nick in and meet the party before they should make inconvenient inquiries at Mr. Tremaine's—Bertie, who was as good a mimic as his mother, enhancing the fright of his fair companion by an improvisation of the scene that would probably take place supposing they were too late to prevent it, and further convulsing her with a travesty of his brother-in-law in his most imposing attitude of stately displeasure.

Lilla nearly had a relapse when they met the rest, as Colonel Rolleston's face was the faithful reproduction of Bertie's five minutes before; but the ironical silence with which he received her speech, rather diminished their triumph at having escaped detection. The girls were all to return to "The Maples," dress there, and go to the dinner and dance at the barracks, under Mrs. Rolleston's sole chaperonage.

The scrambling toilette was got through with much noise and merriment.

"Oh, has any one seen my 'waist'?" and "Do smooth my waterfall," were enigmatical exclamations of frequent occurrence. Cecil's dormitory resembled a milliner's show-room from the variety of dresses spread on the bed.

These were not of a very extravagant description; papery pink or green silk seemed most in vogue, completed with rows of beads round the throat; but when viewed in connexion with the apple-blossom complexions, abundant hair and dancing eyes of the Canadian belles, the adventitious aids of dress might well be deemed as superfluous as painting the lily.

Half-a dozen covered sleighs, going and returning, transported the party to the barracks, where, escorted by their military hosts, they ascended the staircase, banked with evergreens, and lined by motionless soldiers to the ante-room, which, of course, looked as unattractive as the cordial but mistaken exertions of its proprietors could make it—all the laissez-aller comfort primly tidied away, and such a roasting fire as speedily drove every one to remote corners of the room.

The mauvais quart d'heure before dinner had the usual sobering effect, and young people, who later on would be valsing together on the easiest of terms, now shyly looked over photograph books, and discoursed with an edifying amount of diffidence and respect. Each one was to go in to dinner with his companion of the sleigh—an arrangement of questionable wisdom, and, as Bertie said, "It behoved one to be doubly careful whom one drove." Captain Delamere was furious, for, when he claimed Lilla, she calmly replied, "That having taken them both, she of course supposed he would ask her elder sister, and, therefore, had promised Captain Du Meresq."

Before Delamere had done anathematizing his folly in giving the saucy Lilla such a loop-hole to throw him over, the trumpet sounded, folding doors opened, and fifty people sat down to the cheery repast.

The table was bright with regimental plate, racing cups, and hot-house flowers. The band commenced playing "Selections," somewhat deafening, perhaps, but then it was too cold to put them out of doors.

Cecil and Bluebell were neither of them too much gratified at witnessing the furious flirtation going on at dinner between Captain Du Meresq and Miss Tremaine; but Cecil, who never looked at them, and therefore, of course, saw everything, fancied the admiration most on the lady's side, and even some of her oeillades, bravado. To be sure Bertie never did flirt seriously en évidence, if he could help it.

Bluebell, completely out of sorts, was acquiring a painful experience. Du Meresq's conduct seemed inexplicable and provoking as she pondered indignantly on her walk at the Humber, and mentally ejaculated with Miss Squeers, "Is this the hend?"

Jack, temporarily discouraged by her indifference to himself, which came on rather rapidly at dinner, gave his next neighbour the benefit of his conversation.

But this unsatisfactory repast to our heroines was not unnecessarily prolonged, the mess-room having to be cleared for the great business of the evening, which, let us hope will prove what it is sure to be called in next day's discussion "a very good ball."

Why this undescriptive phrase should be applied to every well-attended dance, with a supper, has always perplexed us; for, of course, every one really judges it by his or her own personal success and enjoyment, not unfrequently incompatible with that of some one else. Yet it is all summed up next morning in the summary verdict "good," or "bad." If there is a deficiency of gentlemen, space, supper, or ton, the latter; but given these indispensables, you may have been jilted for your bosom friend by your latest conquest, yet you must come up smiling, and endorse the public panegyric on the hated evening till the subject be superseded.

Bluebell, a few weeks ago, would have looked upon this ball as the acme of delight. She was in great request, and, indeed, attained that highest object of young lady ambition, being belle of the evening; but now her happiness did not depend on the many—dance after dance passed, and the only partner she cared for had not once engaged her.

Bertie had been sitting out half the evening with Lilla in a conservatory, and when they did emerge, was seized on by his brother-in-law with very black looks, and introduced to a somewhat unappreciated young lady.

Bertie had the happy knack of appearing equally charmed, whether presented to a beauty or the reverse; but he inscribed himself very low down on her card, remorselessly ignoring the intervening blanks, and then approached Cecil, who, in black and amber, was the most striking-looking girl in the room. Though inferior in beauty to many, her fine figure and expressive eyes could never pass unnoticed.

"Dear little Cecil, how well she is looking!" thought he, facilely forgetting his latest flame, and just becoming sensible of her "altered eye."

"My niece," said Bertie, in a theatrical tone, intended to disguise his perception of it, "shall we tread a measure? Let me lead you forth into the mazy dance."

"Excuse me, Bertie," said Cecil, languidly; "I am only going to dance the two or three round ones I am engaged for, and I know you do not care for square."

"I should think not," said he angrily, "when you are going to dance round ones with other fellows."

"You see you asked too late," said she, indifferently.

"Will you go in to supper with me then?"

"That was all arranged and written down ages ago. Let me see, I am ticketed for the Major again."

"As you have been all day. I never saw such a cut and-dried, monotonous programme for a party: all done by rule—no freedom of action."

"Really, Bertie, you and Miss Tremaine can't complain."

"That's why you are so cold to me to-night, Cecil," said Du Meresq, quietly.

"What can it signify to me?" retorted she, freezingly, vexed at having permitted the adversary, so to speak, to discover the joint in her harness. Her partner, who had been hovering near, now claimed and bore her unwillingly away, for next to being friends with Bertie was the pleasure of "riling" him by smiling icyness. It was the only weapon she permitted herself, as she would not condescend to any visible sign of jealousy or pique.

Bertie was simply gêné by her determination to be all or nothing; there was no satisfying such an unreasonable girl. Like the immortal Lilyvick, "he loved them all," yet her thoughtful mind and gentle companionship were becoming more to him than he was himself aware of.

Cecil, valsing round, looked at each turn for his tall figure leaning against the wall. It was an abstracted attitude, and he seemed graver than usual.

"Had she made him unhappy?"—she trusted so—would give the world to read his thoughts.

Some one said, "There is no punishment equal to a granted prayer." Du Meresq was wrapt in speculation as to whether they had really succeeded in getting a wild turkey for supper, which the Mess President was in maddening doubt about the day before.

That blissful moment was at hand, and the room thinned with a celerity born of ennui, I suppose, for very few people are really hungry, yet it is the invariable signal for as simultaneous a rush as of starving paupers when the door of a soup kitchen is opened. To be sure, there are the chaperones, poor things, round whom no "lovers are sighing," and, perhaps, supper is the liveliest time to them—old gentlemen, too, might be allowed some indulgence; but what can be said for dancing men, wasting the precious moments of their partners, while they linger congregated together among the débris and champagne-corks?

"What a clearance," said Bluebell, subsiding, with a fagged air, on to a sofa, as her partner bowed himself off with an eye to business.

"Forward the heavy brigade," said Bertie, motioning to his brother-in-law bearing off Lady Hampshire; "only room for thirty at a time. We must wait, Miss Leigh."

"I am ready to wait. But what have 'we' got to say to it?" said Bluebell, with her Canadian directness.

"Don't speak so unkindly," said Bertie, sentimentally, flinging himself on the sofa by her side. "You don't know all I have suffered this week."

"You certainly disguised it very well," said the girl, with total disbelief in her eyes.

"Do you think I felt nothing when I saw you all day with Vavasour, who every one knows is madly in love with you; and then dancing every dance—not leaving a corner in your programme for me?"

"You didn't ask me," said Bluebell, less austerely.

"No, for you never so much as looked my way. Besides, Bluebell, I told you we must be careful. If Colonel Rolleston guessed my feelings for you—he is so selfish, he forgets he has been young himself—I should be no longer welcome here."

"Then, I am sure," said Bluebell, the tears rushing to her eyes, "I wish you had never come. I have been miserable ever since I took that stupid walk, which you prevented my mentioning; and—and—"

"Let's be miserable again next Sunday, Bluebell," whispered Bertie.

"I shall not go home; or, if I do, I'll stop there. I'll never walk with you again, Captain Du Meresq."

"'Quoth the raven, "never more!"' I know what it is, you are tired to death. Sit still on the sofa and I will bring you some supper; sleighing all day and dancing all night have distorted your mental vision,"—and Bertie dashed off, passing the young lady he was engaged to on his way to the supper room, with an inward conviction that their dance must be about due. Having possessed himself of a modicum of prairie hen, he intercepted a tumbler of champagne cup just being handed across the table to Captain Delamere.

"Confound it, that's mine!" said the aggrieved individual.

"I want it for a lady," urged Bertie.

"So do I," said Delamere.

"My dear fellow," said Bertie, chaffingly, nodding towards a gorgeous American, "it is for Mrs. Commissioner Duloe. She must not be kept waiting."

"I won't allow my lady to be second to any lady in the room," cried Delamere who was elevated.

Bertie was in too great a hurry to chaff Delamere any longer, for, perceiving that his relatives were safely at supper, he resolved to make the most of the few minutes at his disposal, and, as he would have expressed it, "lay it on thick."

Bluebell was leaning languidly back on the sofa, watching the forms of the dancers, ever revolving past the open door to the strains of a heart-broken valse. (En passant, why are the prettiest valses all plaintive and despairing, quadrilles and lancers cheerful and jiggy, and galops reckless, not to say tipsy?)

Bertie, with his spoils, was by her side, and, having restored her nerves with champagne, proceeded to agitate them again with the warmest protestations of affection. The child with the day's experience before her, only half-believed him, but the spirit of coquetry woke up, and she resolved to try and make him care for her as much as he pretended to do.

But Bluebell was trying her 'prentice hand with a veteran in such warfare.

They were alone in the little room, in one adjoining a few people were sitting.

"I wish that girl would not watch us so," said Bluebell, indicating one apparently deep in a photograph book, under cover of which she was furtively observing them.

"Oh," said Bertie, with a groan, "she's been following me about ever since I asked her for a dance six off. I hope it is over."

"I dare say she's very angry at being left sitting out," said Bluebell. "I am sure I should be."

"Ah," said Bertie, "your experience will be all the other way—it's us poor fellows who will be thrown over, besides, she shouldn't have got introduced to me. I saw her going on the wrong leg and all out of step, and Jack Vavasour says she's a regular stick-in-the-mud to talk to."

A stream now issued from the supper room, and Mr. Vavasour, bowing himself free from a "comfortable" looking matron, hurried up.

"Our dance, Miss Leigh. I thought I should never be in time. She was twenty minutes at the chicken and lobster-salad, and then went in for sweets."

"I must go and give my girl a turn, I suppose," whispered Bertie. "She's guarding the outposts so no chance of giving her the slip. She'd go raging off to the Colonel. Just like him, letting one in for such a real bad thing."

A few sleighs were beginning to jingle up, but most of the girls assumed moccasins, clouds, and furs, and kilting their petticoats as deftly and mysteriously as only Canadians can, set out in parties, escorted by their partners, and stepped briskly over the moon lit snow to their respective dwellings.

Bertie saw his party off in their sleigh, tenderly squeezing Bluebell's hand, who fell to his share, but did not return with them. Indeed, he was walking soon in quite an opposite direction, by the side of a shrouded figure in a rose-coloured cloud, out of which laughed the mischievous eyes of the second Miss Tremaine.